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D2 –

We know it’s coming out. There’s nothing we can do to stop it. Most of us welcome it with open arms and loaded weapons. We’re all looking forward to blowing things up and watching explosions in space along with the lifeless bodies and exploding heads of aliens KA-BOOMING around us.

Though, there are some people (like myself) who are either on the fence or just are not looking forward to this whatsoever. They think it’s not going to be all that different from the first one and that all that it will be with be a huge universal loot grind to get this better weapon to do this better thing, to get this many more experience points to gain this level, to finally do …WHATEVER.

My question to you is:

QUESTION: What are your thoughts on this?

Comment below.

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Overwatch – new game coming out. I’ve spent the past couple of hours watching (actively or inactively) JP play the game on Twitch and it’s looking pretty good. It’s another FPSs, but it looks a bit different than some of the other ones that have come out recently. It looks similar to Destiny in the fact that it’s sci-fi, but it also has huge animated elements to it. Looks good though.

The game play seems to be fast and there are a lot of mechanics that are involved which can help or hinder, it seems. Just like any other FPS, the guns change as the levels increase and you can play co-op, which is an attractive feature for many gamers out there. The only thing that I watched had to do with lots of players going out and going against each other in an all-out kill mode. It reminded me of something analogous to the Crucible in Destiny.

Speaking of which, I’m still playing.

I have been playing Destiny since day one and, like many of the fans out there, I’m not really sure why I’m still playing. I finished the story a long time ago, and now it’s all just about upgrading my character. It’s been about upgrading my character since….well since that first year. Bungie keeps increasing the maximum possible level as well as the kinds of “stuff” you can get. It’s insane how that right there keeps us going. We just get caught up in these traps of “oh, more stuff!” and, well if there aren’t any other games that are going to keep our fancy, then we stay the course.

Anyway, Overwatch comes out for the PS4 at the end of May; check it out when you get a chance. I hope you all had a delightful Tuesday.

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Quiet in her perch upon an unlighted roof corner high above the barren grounds of the Cosmodrome, Nga’am the Warlock looked through the long scope of her rifle. The shadowy bodies of the Taken minions popped in and out of her crystal clear view as she steadied her breath.

“God, you’re ugly,” she whispered. She broke her aim and dislodged the clip in the gun before loading a fresh one. “Lucky for you,” she continued to herself. She chambered the long titanium round and clicked off the safety, “there’s a cure.” Again she aimed and held her breath when a giant dull grey and black head of a Taken Knight drifted into the center of her scope. Nga’am squeezed the trigger and felt the smooth kick of her rifle as she watched the head within view shatter into dust and ichor, and finally disappear in its own inter dimensional vortex.

“There we are,” she exhaled, looking up from the scope. “All better.”

The gathering of shadows in the area startled and, within seconds, began to launch their own fire – pulsating rocket bolts, thrown in spurts of three, each pounding at the walls around her crouched nest in hopes of ferreting her out.

“There you go again,” she said, shouldering her rifle and leaping back onto the abandoned rooftop. “Always have to get all pissy when your friends get sniped.” She quickstepped out of view to the backside of the building and dropped in levels to the ground. Things were quieter on this side, and she smirked at still being able to hear could the nice mix of screams and rockets from the Taken on the backside.

Nga’am walked to one area of the wall where she found the stack of dead branches and tumbleweeds she used to conceal the room and, one by one, began to throw each piece of the blockade away from the doorway. She was still ahead of them, but they weren’t human; she knew she didn’t have all day to get out of the area.

Her sparrow was just as she had parked it that morning. Had she been out hunting that long? She considered the thought as she turned the air bike around and walked it to the doorway. She mounted the dusty frame and hovered there just as she saw three black orbs rolling toward her upon the dusty dry ground of midday from several hundred meters out. As they rolled, they grew with size and color. There were glassy streaks and curls of black dust and smoke. Each orb carried its own otherworldly yell as it expanded and sped toward her.

“Aww,” she said, “my fan club.” She lifted a hand from the throttle and placed it over her heart. “Can’t stay, sadly. Another time?” She blew them a kiss and leaned in, slamming the throttle to full.

The fist-sized afterburners of the sparrow’s engines flared hot and then began to sputter.“No, no, c’mon honey. Not now.” The small craft began to shake before the engine whined to a halt and the craft lowered to the ground.

“Shit. I need an upgrade.”

Nga’am looked up.How much time she had before they were on her? But there was no time to give the thought just time as one of the black orbs slammed into her, and the world around her drummed into darkness.

Three towering figures stomped toward her – the heads of each twitched and jerked. Each carried thick heavy blades of rock. Behind them, their wakes teemed with the throngs of Shadow Thrall – their thin swift bodies and venomous screeches ripping at her ears.

Two of the giants came into reach first, raised their stone blades, and dropped them upon her just as she fell from the craft out of the way. The weapons smashed into the metal and the lightweight bike shattered, its engine and seat thumped to the ground and dust jumped into the air. Small bits of the body’s detritus sailed in every direction.

The darkness continued to come at her.

The warlock squirmed on the ground, the red leather of her gauntlets searching for some corporeal idea of safety. With quick lucidity, Nga’am flipped onto her back and tossed a purple glowing ball into the air toward the giants upon her and the ghostly army at their backs. The ball hung between their heads before it burst into a miniature blaze, blinding the entirety of the Darkness. In the flash, they staggered backward and roared, losing their balance, their focus, their victory.

The burst was enough to buy her time. Nga’am recovered her feet underneath her as well as the smooth barrel of her auto rifle. Just as she brought it up to fire, the Dark swarm about her began to fall under a rain of fire.

The three giant forms of the Taken Lieutenants lost their footing as a spray of bullets darted across their collective bodies. Two rocket blasts behind them sent dozens of the black Thrall bodies into screams of swift vapor. When the warlock turned her head to see where it was coming from. Two figures stood high upon the rooftop behind her. One a tall white-cloaked hunter, the other a husky Titan holding the smoking barrel of a large rocket launcher. In a quick moment, as the hunter continued to rain fire upon the Dark below, Nga’an saw the Titan lower her weapon and wave to her wildly as though they were old friends who had not seen each other in years. The Titan turned back to the plagued ground threatening the warlock and again fired another rocket. This sent another flurry of impish souls back into the Void.

With that, the minions of the Dark retreated and Nga’am was left there, her back against the tall rusty face of the building. She was still aiming her rifle at the fading Thrall as they began to leave, and she found humor in her chance to tag the last one with several shells before it too vanished.

Both strangers then dropped from the roof of the building and walked to her, shouldering their weapons. Nga’am recovered, standing and giving herself a quick dusting. “Much appreciated,” she said.

“Whoa!” said the Titan, removing her helmet and walking over to where the smashed exoskeleton of Ngh’am’s sparrow lay all but buried upon the wizened Earth soil. “Is that an S-10 model?”

“Ahh, it was,” replied the warlock.

“Okay, you seriously need an upgrade!” the Titan responded.

“You don’t say.”

“No, I mean. You have to get one now, of course ‘cause this one’s like totaled, but I’m saying like before this. You totally could have used an upgrade. S-11 Class A, minimum. Even an S-21 Seeker would have been all right, but these things are like way antiquated.”

“Rijah,” the hunter said tersely, cutting her off. The Titan silenced herself and looked over at him, her metallic eyes glinting at him. A mauve mohawk of hair curved around her bald head.She had a wild look about her – one which Nga’am read as fearless and blithely destructive. That married with the hunter’s patience and stealth, she could see that they were probably a pretty good team.

Satisfied, the hunter regarded the warlock and nodded. “Ned,” he said. “This is Rijah.” The Titan waved madly for a half second then dropped her arms again. “Glad we found you when we did. We figured you ~”

“Totally saw the money shot from the across the grounds,” Rijah said still looking at the wreckage of the sparrow. “Epic! Need to take a look at your ‘snifle’ when we get back to the Tower.”

“Snifle?” Nga’am questioned, tilting her head.

“Yep,” the Titan responded. “Sniper rifle…snifle.”

Ned looked back at her almost exasperated. “What I was saying was, after we saw them coming for you, we wanted to simply make sure you were safe, so we followed.”

“I’m glad you did. I may not have been around much longer if you didn’t.

“Specially not with this thing,” the Titan said pointing downward with two index fingers at the pile of metal scrap and hard plastic in the dirt. “Ho-Ly BALLS! Seriously though, upgrade next time.”

“Rija,” Ned again spoke up, his voice more raised this time and again the Titan quieted. “Thanks. I’m Nga’am, by the way.”

“We could use your shot on our Fireteam,” Ned said. “It always seems to be the snipers on the other side who keep us from getting things done as efficiently as they could be.”

Nga’am regarded the duo and considered. The hunter

“Well, look at me – all without words.”

“Or a bike,” Rijah said.

“Rijah, that’s enough,” Ned said, turning back.

“Just sayin’,” she said donning her helmet again. The Titan began to dance to the tune of unheard music.

Ned closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Continue, please. Will you join us?”

“The last time I was on a Fireteam, my teammates left me stranded in a Vex ridden hole on Venus. Their attempt at saving me was…let’s just say other-than-heroic. I’m a bit timid on the whole ‘all-for-one’ thing, Ned.”

“Look, if it helps, I don’t think you’re the only one who feels put out or mistrustful of teammates. Real teams take time. For now, what do you say we get back to the Tower and I talk to my people in Dead Orbit about bringing you on?”

There was a roll of thunder then which emanated from behind the warlock in the far reaches of the Cosmodrome. The three of them looked up to see three more Fallen transport ships racing into Earth’s atmosphere and hovering there to drop off another load of the soon-to-be-dead.

Ned grabbed for the shotgun which was strapped to his leg. “It’s gonna get ugly around here, warlock. Real ugly, real quick. Come with us,” he held out his white-gloved hand.

Nga’am looked at him, then to Rijah who had stopped dancing and held up a ‘thumbs up’ sign. Back to Ned she looked, and nodded.

She grabbed his hand firmly. “Done,” she said.

“Woo Hoo!” Rijah threw two hands up in a victory. “Hell yeah. You know what this means don’t you?” She came over and threw a heavy-armored arm across the warlock’s back.

“Yeah,” said Nga’am as Ned tossed his ghost into the air. “It means I can upgrade.

The trio dissipated as more Fallen and Taken poured into desert lot of the tall rusty building. They gathered first around the shattered body of an antiquated Sparrow.

Omil leaped from behind the Cryptarch and landed into a form near invisible behind the warlock who had been at the vault for the past twenty minutes.

“You’re late,”Trenton said, not bothering to look back.

“I know,” she said, standing and regaining her visible form. She smirked at how ever entertaining a species she found the humans to be. Their sarcasm always seemed to click in their stating the obvious. She turned to look out over the mild mango glow of the horizon behind the Traveler.

“What’s the point?” Trenton asked from out of view.

“Of what?”

“Of looking at it – the scene, the Traveler, Earth. Your kind has no concept of beauty, am I right? I mean, human beauty, I guess.” He held up another hand at the vault and sealed it with a satisfying hum.

“My kind?” Omil asked.

“Yes, your kind. Were my words not strong enough for you? I thought every Awoken had within them a data base of every human language of Earth’s history.” Trent turned and stepped toward her. The Awoken’s arm was too swift. In a blurred moment, he was was off his feet and looking up at her. She was holding him down, her wild fiery orange eyes staring out beyond the Tower. In his mind, it was humiliating – a human dropped by an Awoken in public. Nothing illegal, but a clear and direct cut into his pride. His instant desire to rage back showed on his face, yet her strength seemed to hold him in place like a flailing newborn. Just as he was going to make a reach for her face, she released and reached for her automatic rifle, her hunter’s eyes narrowing in on her some aspect of her gaze outward.

She ducked back down, slamming the warlock off balance and tossing him to the floor, positioning herself over him as gunfire upturned the granite square of the Tower grounds.

Trenton jolted, turning his face away from the exploding bricks.

“This way,” Omil said. She had removed herself from her position of superiority above him and was already ahead of him when she spoke. “The Speaker – he’s in danger. We need to get there. Now.”

Biggs scrambled up and snatched the Monte Carlo off his back as he stuck close to the hunter as they dashed toward the Speaker’s wing. “And how the hell do you know this again?”

“It’s an Awoken thing,” she yelled back over her back. “Don’t try and understand it.”

The two sprinted while the tower erupted into vigilance and panic. Guardians all around them were sent into a frenzy. Weapons were drawn and the footsteps quickened. Omil turned back just before ducking into the hallway to find Trenton firing into the air, joining other gunfire already from kicking off from the Cryptarch’s tent on the other side. Two large shadows passed above.

“Not now, Biggs!” she grabbed his shoulder and moved him along.

Biggs followed, annoyed. “These cocksuckers are gonna end up in a different kind of hell.”

Omil yanked him onward toward the Speaker’s chambers, and when the sky came into view on the other side of the winding corridor, there was further smoke polluting the scene. Guardians fired into the sky with every sized cannon they could muster. Members of each of the Tower’s guilds raced through its halls and across its vast squares. Omil and Trenton crouchedbehind several pillars and hallway walls as another wave of giant ship shadows rolled overhead raining another onslaught of gunfire upon the the Last City.

Omil reached behind her and retrieved a sleek red-barreled rifle and looked adroitly through the cubed scope atop it.

“Hereafter, you’ll be no more,” she whispered to herself. She squeezed and the thin barrel pulled slowly into her with a hollow release. Biggs turned back to the sky and watched as one of the grey ships screamed a dark smoke and jerked out of its position in the sky. It lost it’s place in midair and toppled planetward. He smirked as it zipped past the balcony of the Tower’s walls and looked back at the hunter. She was resetting the rifle on her back.

“One cocksucker down,” she said. “Let’s move.”

They took cover as they moved, keeping low and protected as often as they could. When the entered the covered walls of the Speaker’s den, they peeked first around the corner and drew their weapons, Biggs on one side, the hunter on the other.

“Speaker!?” Biggs yelled from the outside walls. No answer came. He looked at the hunter and nodded her in.

Both turned the corner guns drawn – Omil’s auto rifle, came smoothly into sight of the stairs leading up to the Speaker’s chambers, Biggs’s Monte Carlo scanning the room for anything dumb enough to be there at that moment. He sidestepped across the doorway, covering her crouched form as she ascended the staircase silently.

The ceremonial purity of the Speaker’s robe was stained by several spatters of his own blood. He was still standing, though, resting on the brick-like shoulders of Lord Shaxx, the headmaster of the Crucible training grounds, the most formidable of Guardian training experiences.

Biggs topped the staircase several steps after the hunter, still scanning the room from top to bottom as he made his steps.

“Grazed,” Shaxx said. His voice was the same cold whisper the Tower rumored it to be. He almost never spoke, and rarely was he seen this much in the open of the grounds. He repeated the words both to the Hunter and the Warlock.

“Grazed, but he’s fine. He needs safety.”

“Yeah, not sure if you’re privy, but the Tower’s not in a good place, Shaxx,” Biggs said, looking at the Speaker and back out into the open room that was the Speaker’s office. He flashed his barrel back down the steps to the opening of the Speaker’s Chambers.

“That’s the attitude that got us here in the first place, warlock.” the lord said. “Now’s not the time for a heavier dose. We need release, and the first thing we need to do is get the Speaker to safety.”

“And what do you suggest? A hidden room, a secret chamber? Are you gonna whisper a password into the air and just make the Speaker vanish?” Biggs prided himself on knowing it better, understanding it more clearly, seeing before it was visible. Biggs wanted to know the situation with more color than the enemy. He wanted to be the surpriser, not the surprised. Biggs was at this moment not happy with where he was.

One of the nine lords of Guardian history, Lord Shaxx was as calm now as if he were meditating somewhere, controlling the silence around him, directing the quiet at his will. At Biggs lack of control, he simply tilted his helmet slightly and walked slowly with the Speaker to an area just behind the Speaker’s desk. He opened his metal gloved hand and placed it upon the silvery surface of the wall and leaned in, speaking something in a low tone. The words were spoken sotto voce and were unknown to Biggs. A quick clamping sound shifted behind the wall and two strong creases formed in the wall – one horizontal and one vertical. The segment of wall pulled away and shifted inward. The door pulled away.

Omil watched on casually, assessing it all with her glowing sorbet eyes. She turned to Biggs and shook her head.

Lord Shaxx handed the Speaker off to the warlock. “Here; this leads to Lord Saladin’s private chambers, unlisted on any public Tower map. He’ll meet you there and help escort the Speaker to safety. The path is plain and well lighted. Make haste.” He stuffed the warlock and the hunter into the space before sending them off.

“What about you?” Biggs asked, turning back to the legendary Guardian. His voice sounded more docile now, more apologetic somehow.

“As far as anyone else is concerned, warlock, the Speaker has vanished.”

The door closed and reset from the inside and, from where they stood, lights, blue, hazel, and gold lit a long corridor down and away. Omil took the lead and hurried her human baggage along.

The Speaker hung from the warlock’s shoulder, steadily walking alongside, saying very little other than several groans of laborious movement. When looked at closely, Trenton could see the Protector’s shoulder had been grazed with either a full shot from one of the attacking ships or shrapnel from something the round hit. He was breathing fine, thankfully, and that was good enough for Biggs.

Omil kept watch through the corridor, understanding the bad guys would likely be fewer down here than outside the walls.

The corridor ended at a wall, deep red and metallic, and as they got closer, levers moved and locks turned on the other side. The sheen of Lord Saladin’s armor bust through from the other side.

“This way,” he said, motioning them through. Biggs and Omil stepped through the gate.

“You’ll keep that drawn, hunter,” Saladin said to Omil gesturing to her firearm. “At this stage we should assume the safety of the Tower is compromised on all levels.”

There was a general room in which they stepped, before Saladin closed another wall which seemed to them camouflaged at first. They recognized then to be standing in Saladin’s private chamber, just inside his honorary position of commendation during the rare periods of Iron Banner competition. The walls held various trophies, plaques, and all manner of weapon – ranged and blunt. A long hafted battle ax, polished to an unspeakable sheen, rested upon two hooks above them. Three words engraved in smooth italics within.

“The Light never rests,” Omil read.

Lord Saladin looked at the hunter and nodded. Out in the square of the Tower, gunfire, explosions, and mayhem continued to fill the air.

“It’s too late for plans of quick reprisal,” Saladin said, his voice calm and unhurried. “And we cannot waste our precious time with ‘why’ after ‘why.’ There is a ship waiting on the back side, across from FTC. The Speaker needs to be on it.” Saladin reached up and unhooked the great ax. “Follow me,” he said.

Trenton Biggs carried many questions within his pent up arrogant warlock frame, though he knew it wasn’t the time to ask. Omil strafed off to one side, keeping the preferred Dead Orbit auto rifle held at the ready. Biggs walked with one hand around the Speaker’s waste and the other holding steady onto his light-but-giddy Monte Carlo. In the front Lord Saladin walked through the Tower’s Iron Banner courtyard and into the central square itself. When he got to the steps, he held his ax at chest height, and began to run. Amid the gunfire, the Guardians of the Tower turned, and the pace of the moment shifted.

Now with new eyes on the state of things, Biggs’s upper lip curled to see myriad Fallen, Vex, and Taken now walking the hallowed tiles of the last city on Earth. Not only was there a hailstorm from above, but the sickness was now walking below.

But Saladin’s speed was gifted, and Biggs knew he didn’t have the time to sit back and blow ammo across the concrete.

“Human!” Omil shouted, waking the warlock out of his pained inner dialogue. “Follow!” She pointed at Saladin before looking into her scope and firing off several spurts of lead into the air. Across the square, a handful of Fallen grabbed their necks and dropped screeching.

The warlock hoisted the Speaker on one shoulder with a grunt and followed the Guardian legend as they made their way past the Gunsmith’s tent to the South Tower.

Saladin’s blade was a force, ripping through bodies of the enemy as his swift silvery boots came within the right reach. Taken minions were slain within the same upper slice as the two Vex bots before them, Short or tall, few or all, the man of legend seemingly walked through them as he made his way through the halls toward the back. Biggs, his arm beginning to shake as he held his weapon at his front, grumbled at the number of bodies he had to step over as he trailed Saladin in wake of his activity.

At the back, the scene was more peaceful. Fallen were still trying to slide through the thick metal covering of the 200 foot tall ceiling, but their progress was minimal, and there were none others who had yet to make it this far. Biggs was also relieved not only to see his fellow Guardians aiming full weaponry at the hallway. They bowed and saluted as Saladin made his arrival.

They slid through the crowd and Saladin slowed, pulling Biggs along with him.

“Here,” he said, pointing to the hovering legendary ship awaiting them. In giant red lettering with purple trip were written the words Armor of Vows with an almost regal script. “The pilot knows where to go – The Reef, meet with the Cryptarch there. Go now, Guardian.” The lord opened a gate in the balcony and the warlock repositioned the Speaker again upon his shoulder and quickstepped down to the ship, hovering miles above the remnants of Earth below.

Once he stepped upon the ship, the entrance door in the body of the great shipped slid back, and the warlock froze as the point of a rifle came out of the dark belly to meet him. It was followed by white gloved hands and a Fallen Captain attached to that.

The creature growled and, from beneath, two wizards screamed into sight the space on either side of the ship. They flew in from the underside of the Tower and began flinging their electrical curses about the vast room, igniting a panicked frenzy. The Guardians fired back.

Biggs turned back to the Fallen Captain. “Catch,” he said, and in one motion tossed the body of the Speaker toward the creature. The body flew so quickly that it bowled it over. Biggs caught the creature on the ground and pulled the unforgiving trigger against its temple.

“My apologies, Speaker; drastic measures,” he said, picking the revered Guardian. He took the Speaker into the craft and placed him softly on the ground before returning to the action.

As he emerged, Biggs found two bolts from the wizards catch Lord Saladin in the chest. The hero dropped to the Tower’s floor across from him. Now fired up, Biggs stood on the top of the hovering ship, in the middle of the action, and let his weapon sing.

He sawed down each jerky Taken minion, sending them out of existence in a cloud of dust. Two neon purple arrows buzzed through the air and the wizards were knocked up against the outer wall before falling from the air and through the clouds back to Earth.

From the hallway, Biggs watched as Omil danced into the room and sent another purple streak from her bow across the room to a Taken beast.

Dark swirls of black and silver fomented in the unoccupied corners of the room amid the chaos and a large form, twice the height of the other minions came into being.

“A Lieutenant,” Omil yelled to Biggs as she crouched low and made her way to the gate. “Aim for the head!”

From around the room, the few Guardians left fired into the air, trying to dispel the oncoming speed of the dark ominous beast, but it was as though their shots were merely rings into an already too-loud amphitheater.

The beast advanced directly for the ship.

“Human!” Omil shouted. “The head!” She stood in the open making herself fully visible and reachable. She raised her rifle to her eyes, pulled on the trigger, and held.

A flurry of fire jaunted from the the hunter’s weapon and slammed in to the dark beast, causing it to roar and race toward it’s new target.

From the ship, Biggs already had his rocket launcher loaded with two rounds.

The speed with which the creature raced was staggering, and Biggs had to lead his rocket farther than anticipated. The first rocket smoked and burned, but went wide.

Omil’s clip ran out and she made to reload.

Biggs had one more shot before it reached the hunter. He held his breath, focused, and squeezed.

The round struck the beast in the head, which dazed it. But it wasn’t enough. The Taken creature reeled back with both arms above the hunter, ready to claim its prey.

But through the air, a swooping gathered air, and before notice could be made, a large THUNK slammed into the chest of the beast. All eyes focused for the swift moment to see Lord Saladin’s battle ax lodged deep into the muddy black of the Taken evil. The creature screamed an agonizing scream before smoking, and dissipating into the quiet air of a somber South Tower.

Lord Saladin walked laboredly into view and bent to retrieve the ax that had fallen with the creature’s disappearance.

“Hunter,” he said, recovering, “I’ve already talked about dithering. You move now. More are coming.” Saladin’s gloved hand motioned the hunter to the ship. Both she and the warlock made their respective motions of thanks and farewell, and closed the hatch.

Within the metal body of the ship, the Speaker’s breathing was labored, but he seemed to be resting fairly. Biggs slid into the pilot’s seat and strapped himself in behind a colorful screen of lights, sound, and meters.

“Okay,” he said aloud, tapping the screen with a series of darts of his finger. “Coords set. We all ready.”

Omil’s hand, from the back of the ship, grabbed Biggs on his shoulder.

“There,” she said, pointing out at a point just at the upper edge of the Traveler’s greyish outline. Biggs looked and squinted. A dark cloud of Taken ships buzzed in their journey forth toward the Tower in the another wave of torment.

“Yeah,” said Biggs. “I know. We’re going.”

She tapped him again, almost lovingly.

“My point exactly, human,” she said and slid back into a seat next to the Speaker.

The engines fired and the afterburners followed. The ship rocketed its way outside of the Tower’s reach, the earth’s atmosphere, and into the young eve of the solar system. The warlock left angry, the hunter amused.

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*the following is a fan-fiction piece based on the world of Destiny . lp

—

“Is there nothing at all you have to say for yourself?”

Many were those who sought audience with the Speaker. He was, after all, the one true voice of the Traveler. Yet, after having been absent from the Tower in more than two months, the people who needed his direction became louder and grew in size. The Guardians as well, perhaps them most of all, were without their leader’s voice, and the activities of their home base began to grow insipid.

Trenton Biggs, however, still walked the Tower’s sacred halls with the same I-couldn’t-give-a-shit saunter that had long been his way of getting by. It made those who guarded the Speaker’s official post a wee bit more uptight. This seemed to increase when they had caught him rifling through several mounds of weapons and ship-related documents on the Speaker’s desk while the sentries were away from their posts. At present, he sat inside a small interrogation room somewhere beneath Cayde and the Vanguard Table.

“What? You want me to apologize? Okay, ready?” He stood, stretched, moved his neck around and cleared his throat. He looked at them with masterful glares and began.

“I’m sorry you have your heads up your Titan asses worrying about me when Crota’s butt spawn are out there looking for a way to light our shit up? I’m sorry I caught you out to lunch away from your posts with your pants down blowing each other when the real Guardians are out there lighting Vex up like mechanical Christmas trees. I’m sorry I was looking for a note the Speaker wrote on my behalf to Master Rahool – a note he told me I could grab from his desk in his absence, a note which would allow me upgrades to my weapons and my uniform.” He knelt smoothly, then his form vanished from their sight. Seconds later he appeared behind them and continued with a sharp pointer finger extended to each of them. “I’m sorry you don’t understand the basic premise of camouflage armor or its superior importance when dealing with the Taken army.” He walked around back to his seat, rolled his neck again, and sat. “And I’m sorry, ultimately, that I couldn’t have been more helpful for your to get all you needed out of me. The Speaker will be calling soon; I hope you have something to tell him.”

“Warlock Biggs,” one of the men behind the counter began. “It is in the interest of Tower Security that you are in this seat, and you shall remain here until granted the proper authority by the Future War Cult -”

“What does FWC have to do with my being here?”

The two men behind the heat lamp looked at each other, their silhouettes showing more confusion than their faces. “We’re not at liberty to -”

“Ah, okay. FTC has Tower Duty for the month, right? So all gate security goes through you guys first? Well, if you’d like, I can send the white flag over to Saturn, tell the Army of Darkness that it’s now or never. Might as well walk right in to our dining rooms, sit comfortable on our aircraft and watch our people bubble and pop.”

The ring of an incoming call lit the table of the room, pulsing it blue and white. The other man touched the table lightly and spoke into the air. “Daws here.”

“Daws, Cayde. Listen, you still got Biggs down there?”

“Cayde, you know we can’t disclose any info on our investigation with the prisoner.”

“It’s ex-prisoner now. Message just came in from the Speaker with a list of high-priority warlocks to make a rogue run into Saturn. Biggs’s name was at the top. I’m sending it to you now. Make sure he’s out in ten.” The table lights fluttered away as the call dropped out.

Biggs eyebrows raised with a sarcastic overly-emphatic arch. “Wow, did not see that one comin’. Don’t worry, guys, I’ll do my best not to let the Tower know exactly how botched this investigation was. I don’t want to take away from your time protecting the Tower. Gotta clock some good protection hours on those rosters. You’re doin’ great.” He stood and stretched. “Oh man, I could use a Hot Pocket. I’m assuming my gear is this way?” He pointed toward the only door in the room before walking past FWC and making his way out.”

The rogue mission on Saturn was a success and on their way home, the pilots were crying with laughter as they spoke of all the pranks FWC would deal with back home.